


Vigil

by Philomytha



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-05
Updated: 2011-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-14 10:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/pseuds/Philomytha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cordelia and Aral wait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vigil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salable_mystic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salable_mystic/gifts).



Supreme power, Cordelia thought. What a joke that was, both when it was true and when it wasn't. She made a rude gesture at the marble statue of Dorca on his horse, illuminated by spotlights in the square below. He must be laughing so hard at them, at the great political farce he had left his descendants. Aral had supreme power here, and there was absolutely nothing he could do tonight but wait. There was nothing anyone could do.

Except this. Cordelia left the window, crossed the corridor and went into Miles' bedroom. They'd given him back his old room here at the Residence, these past few days, and he seemed content enough. Of course, he didn't know why he was here. There was a nightlight glowing, and by its light she went to his bed. There were pain marks around his eyes even in sleep, even at six years old. She bent and kissed his head, smelling _her child_ in his hair. She could stay here forever, she sometimes thought, but after a minute she went out again, closing the door quietly. Bothari outside came to attention, and she smiled at him, a little wanly. Not given to words, Bothari simply nodded, but she knew what he meant. I'm here, I'm on duty, I won't let anything hurt your boy. Cordelia pressed her hand to his arm briefly. Bothari, of course, knew why they were here.

She walked through night-quiet corridors, past ImpSec duty guards who seemed paler and more worried than usual, until she came to the Emperor's bedroom. Again she went inside. Gregor was asleep too. She and Aral had debated telling him about what was happening, and had finally compromised on a vague and watered-down version of events, enough to catch his attention, not enough to terrify him. Cordelia suspected he had deduced more from what they hadn't said, but he'd simply gone quiet and polite and formal the way he did when he wanted to be left alone. No longer trying to pretend to be a grown-up, he looked his ten years curled up in the big bed. Cordelia kissed him too, and went out.

It had been Illyan who'd put his foot down and insisted they move back to the Residence, after the ultimatum arrived from the Cetagandans. His stone-solid determination to get his way had startled Cordelia, since whenever she saw Illyan she couldn't help but think of the puppy-like lieutenant who had followed Aral into Ges Vorrutyer's cabin that day. But he'd grown and changed since then. They all had.

She still thought it was a bit excessive to have them all at the Residence. It took ImpSec thirteen minutes from bursting into their bedroom in the middle of the night to get Aral to the Residence--something Cordelia had learned from repeated experience--and they'd certainly have thirteen minutes' warning even if Cetagandan warships did come through the wormhole without a single previous survivor getting the news out. But Aral had pressed his lips together and not argued with Illyan, and Cordelia had realised then that this might not be just another border skirmish with the Cetas. So they were all safely in the Imperial Residence where they could be whisked into the bunker at a moment's notice. That moment would come tonight, if it came at all, when the Cetagandan response to Aral's final gambit came through.

She went down the stairs, down and in, through corridors of offices bustling with haggard-looking staffers and aides who looked at her and said nothing. Cordelia wanted to say something to reassure them, knew it was her duty to help keep up morale, but could manage nothing beyond a slight smile. She went down another flight of stairs, past a serious ImpSec guard post and into another busy office, with men watching comconsoles like their lives depended upon them. Tonight, they did. At the far end of the office was a black door.

"Aral's in there?" she asked the guard outside. "Can I go through?" The guard gave a nod and opened the door to the War Room.

Aral, unexpectedly, was alone in the room, sitting backwards on a chair, his head tilted forwards. He looked up in a sudden adrenalin-spike at her entry, then his expression softened as he realised it wasn't news.

"Can't sleep?" he said.

Cordelia gave a snort and went to sit on the edge of the enormous table. "No chance of that."

"Half an hour." He looked at the red figures of the clock on the wall, watching the seconds tick past. "That's when we might first hear something."

"Can I wait here?" Cordelia said.

Aral put a hand on her leg. "Please do."

She looked at his face. His eyes, always deep-set, now seemed almost to vanish into the dark shadows surrounding them, but he was obviously too strung out to rest. He'd barely been able to snatch a few hours here and there for the past week, keeping going on adrenalin and stims and pure terror. He hadn't been the only one, either: since this crisis had broken she'd kept stumbling over the key players taking cat-naps in corners around the offices of the Residence, most memorably Illyan curled up in an armchair with a grey wool shawl carefully tucked over him.

"If it is invasion," he said, "I'll have to go up and take the Home Fleet. People will expect that. You will be my Voice here, and I will give Gregor into your personal care. And--"

"I know," Cordelia said softly. They'd discussed these and other contingencies in terrifying detail over the past few days, one of many reasons Cordelia hadn't been able to sleep.

Aral's lips twisted in a wry grimace. "Yeah. It's just that I'm--" scared, he didn't finish. Not here in the War Room, not at the moment before the blow would fall.

"Me too," Cordelia said anyway, and leaned forward, her head touching his. "I thought your plan was good." Actually, she'd thought it a work of genius; proof, if she had needed any, that he was one of the greatest political and strategic thinkers in the galaxy. The trouble was, some of the other great thinkers were in the Cetagandan Empire.

"We'll see," Aral said. He ran a hand through her hair, gently, absently. "I hate waiting," he said after a while.

Cordelia gave a short nod, and they sat in silence. She tried to tell her body to rest, knowing that there might be action in plenty soon enough, and that she would need to be ready then, but her body was ready now, responding to the inescapable tension. Aral's hand still moving over her hair was soothing, but not enough.

The door opened, rattling a little deliberately, and a young aide entered, eyes carefully focused on the wall opposite. Cordelia nearly laughed. Had he thought she would be fooling around with Aral, here and now? He sat at a work station at the edge of the room. A few minutes later some other officers followed him, and Cordelia removed herself from the table.

"Would you like me to go?" she asked Aral quietly.

"No. I'd rather..." He ran out of words, but his hand brushed hers. In truth, Cordelia would have hated having to leave. She wanted to be with Aral for this moment, whatever happened.

"It could still be hours yet," Aral said to her, but his words were aimed at the whole room. "This is just the earliest possible time for an answer. The night is still young."

"I know." Cordelia took a chair at the side, near Aral but away from any of the other staff, and forced herself to sit in a more relaxed position. She watched Aral, now being the Regent, wearing an impenetrable mask of confidence and competence.

The bustle in the War Room increased as they grew nearer the possible response time, and more faces Cordelia knew appeared at the table, as many of the Chiefs of Staff as could get here, still working on whatever it was they were doing whilst they waited. Not for the first time, Cordelia looked at the arrayed Barrayaran soldiers and saw nothing but a group of mothers' sons, variously frightened, excited, worried, tense.

"Jump-courier B-12-79 has made transition," a young ensign said across the bustle. Complete silence fell instantly. "Tight-beam transmission in progress."

They waited, everyone sitting perfectly still. Cordelia could hear the small beeps and clicks from the consoles, the hum of the ventilation system, the blood throbbing in her ears. She looked at Aral. He reminded her of some dangerous predator, waiting motionless for the moment he could pounce. A message appeared on his comconsole, and he opened it. He read the message. Looked up at the room. All eyes were on him. Slowly, the smile Cordelia had first fallen in love with blossomed on his face. "The Cetas are holding position at their jump-point," he said. "We live."

The tension in the room released like an elastic snapping, twanging back on itself in relief, and a cheer went up around the table. Cordelia looked at Aral. "In that case," she said, "I think you should come upstairs to bed. Right now."

"Rule seven," Aral said mildly to her-- _Barrayarans don't discuss sex at work_ , and Aral had added a codicil of 'particularly in front of the General Staff'--but his smile hadn't faded. "I thank you all. You can take it from here, I think. My wife commands."


End file.
